


What goes in-- must come out.

by Star_less



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: //omg so embarrassed, Controlling!Rosetta, Desperation, Desperation Play, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Gen, Humiliated!Layton, Humiliation, Hurt, I cannot stress how much pee this has in it I AM SO SORRY, Inspired by Real Events, Long Shot, My First Work in This Fandom, Omorashi, Originally Posted on deviantART, peeing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3064499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_less/pseuds/Star_less
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one in which Rosetta gets her way with the Professor, things that go in, also come out, and the Professor can't entirely hold his composure when he's struggling to hold the contents of his bladder, too.</p><p>First work in this fandom!</p><p>Inspired by an author in this fandom, on this website.. with the greatest ideas. I had to write it! :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	What goes in-- must come out.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, lovely to see you, PL fandom! This is my first work over here, I'm more well known for my One Direction omorashi stories though. But, if you like Professor Layton (who wouldn't?!) and you like omorashi... read this!  
> \--I AM SO SO SORRY THOUGH  
> \--FOR INVADING THIS FANDOM  
> \--WITH MY OMORASHI  
> -n-; //runs away

It was eleven forty five.  
Hershel Layton was not entirely sure he was looking forward to this incoming study session but-- so be it. His heart thudding, he took a deep gulp of the steaming tea left on the desk and hummed, sitting back comfortably at last. _No,_ he lightly scolded himself, _this will be fine. Rosetta is just the more enthusiastic of my students and is eager to learn._

At twenty five minutes past twelve, Rosetta skipped up the stone steps of the door to the Professor's apartment, one single book nestled to her bosom (not that she had any intention of studying; but whatever would win her beloved over...)  
She knocked on the door.  
The Professor, teacup empty, stood up. He was all too aware of the slightest warmth-- that tea, already?-- nestling comfortably into his bladder. He paused, and immediately his mind drifted to that of the toilet. He didn't entirely want to get himself into a _situation_ , per se, especially not in front of his students. The mere thought of having to excuse himself for a moment of relief brought a blush to his cheeks. Situation settled, he brushed the thought away and went to the door. "Ah, Rosetta."  
His voice was warm and velvety, not a hint of worry. "I'm glad to see you. Do come in."

Rosetta was eager, to say the least. Her laugh was breathy, floaty (and forced!) and no sooner had he got to the word "come" in his sentence, she stepped up to him. _Close enough,_ she noted, _to take in the scent he carried so beautifully with him. Rooibos tea and lavender. Lovely._

The two entered the Professor's home, only to be greeted by Luke, holding out a tea tray, zooming to their feet.

"Rosetta. This is Luke." The Professor started, with a small unsure tug of his shirt collar. He had a feeling that Luke was going to become a frequent fixture of this study session, if only due to his extremely... _overprotective_? nature when it came to Layton's meetings with this girl.

The two got quickly settled down together on Layton's couch. Quickly Layton forced through the pressure increasing in his bladder, trying to take his mind off of it. "Yes, ah, Rosetta.." He smiled serenely, "How is your homework doing? Remind me what you were basing your paper on...?"

Rosetta did not want to waste any of this precious hour chatting like so.

"Actually.." Silkily, she twisted forward. "I had a draft of the paper. Here.."  
Layton relaxed slightly. Only then, Rosetta was leaning in closer to him, so close that the scent of her strong perfume swarmed his nostrils. With her free hand she appeared to be fiddling with her chest; Layton could only wonder why she'd keep paper in a place such as that...

Then realised.  
 _Oh_.  
Panic. Much panic.  
"Rosetta..." He stuttered unsurely, squirming.. He coughed loudly. _Luke! Where are you! Help!_

"Professor!" Luke squeaked. He rattled, trying to hurry. There was commotion! 

" 'fessor!" Finally, Luke burst in. "Would you like tea?"

Rosetta and Hershel yanked apart, the Professor breathing out silently. A wash of relief swam over him... Then a tinge of bitterness; it was nothing like the relief his bladder screamed for.  
Luke sure did save a situation. 

Rosetta scowled. _Blasted child, got in the way. She'd get him back..._  
Hershel paused and closed his eyes, his bladder trembling as the need for relief became a little more pressing. He hummed unsurely-- "L-Luke.. I really don't feel--"  
Rosetta cut in for him. "Tea? Oh! Yes please, Luke darlin'.."

The familiar rattle of the tea tray sang in his ears and Hershel halted slightly, as the full feeling of his bladder pulsed. He bit his lip, shifting and rustling, finding a position that made the spiking pain in his bladder dull and still.

Luke made quick work of preparing a cup of tea; Earl Grey this time, taken from the rainbow of teas in the cupboard. He poured shakily, carefully, tongue out in concentration.  
Layton watched him carefully, a weak smile passing his lips. The spill of tea meeting teacup was quiet but striking to the elder's ears, reminding his bladder so painfully of what he had to do. Liquid splashing so, made his own bladder contract painfully and Hershel had to retreat back into the brim of his hat and bite back an unusually throaty grunt of humiliation when his legs twitched and muscles throbbed. He was sat back for so long that the sound of tea roaring became part of his imagination; Luke had finished and Rosetta was nursing the cup in her hands.

"That wasn't very nice." Rosetta commented.

"M-mm?" Hershel blinked, tearing himself back to reality with a bladder pulsing hiss. He began to tap his leg just slightly; squeeze it just so, rippling the waves of pain in his bladder. He sniffed, but remained calm. It came across as a casual movement (he assumed) therefore he had nothing to worry about.

"You didn't say thank you to the poor boy."  
Rosetta stirred the sugar cube within the tea.

Hershel felt oddly vulnerable at this moment in time, his mouth dry, incapable of speech. He gulped. Rosetta was boring into him.  
"Er.."

"Say thank you." Rosetta smirked, "or this drink will be settling comfortably in your stomach in less than fifteen seconds."  
She was not stupid; she knew what pure desperation looked like. She delighted in the fact that Hershel visibly shrank, and said 'thank you' to his apprentice in one breath, and swiftly changed the subject to Cornwall.

No sooner had Hershel got comfortable and quiet on the couch, letting his mind empty, had he felt the pressure in his bladder; the two mugfuls of tea bursting his bladder at the seams.  
He grimaced a little and sat forward, his face losing colour as he sat too much onto the painful, swollen bump.  
 _I must press on... It will be okay..._ He urged himself, taking a long breath.  
"Yes, recall on your time at Cornwall please, Rosetta." Hershel tried to stay calm, and ignore the waves emanating inside his own... teapot, as it were.  
Wince.

Rosetta smiled to herself. She knew by now her plans of kissing the Prof were slim; he was adorably frigid after all-- so why not... _embellish_ the tale somewhat...? His desperation was just as desirable...  
"Mmm," she smiled, voice _dripping_ with fakery, "Yeah, it was lovely. All the stones, they're great. But you know what was better?" She leaned forward, her voice hushed as if shocked.  
"Mmm?" Hershel asked.  
"The waterfalls. Oh, wow." She grinned.

Layton cringed. _Typical._  
The gentle prodding of his bladder spiked somewhat, catching him off guard. He jumped harshly in his seat, as the urine in his bladder sloshed. While he ultimately stayed calm, his hands gripping tighter to the couch beneath him, he tightened his legs urgently. _No!no!nononono... -- Ah, there came the rational side of him -- S.. stay calm.. Stay.. calm! -- Ah. Even the rational side of him was having trouble staying calm right now._  
He breathed shakily out, "O-oh?"

Rosetta wasn't sure if the "oh?" was a welcome - "do carry on!" or a stop - "Please.. stop!"  
But whatever it was, she liked how it was going and was NOT going to stop.  
"Yeah, you know... they flowed so _viciously_ against the rocks.." She gasped, faux-amazed. "Splashed so much... Pooled so beautifully..."

Hershel barely heard his own drawn out whimper fall from his lips as Rosetta's words constricted around his bladder, squeezing the sore, leaking balloon.  
"O.. o-oh." He managed to gnaw out, humming lowly as the toxic splashes against the rocks decided to invade his mind. His bladder muscles began to twist and contract painfully as if hearing the noisy streams for real and he was unable to stop his own waterfall from sprinkling out and dampening his pants, jetting the tops of his legs wetly.  
"Mm-mm..!"  
Frantically, Hershel grabbed at the barely-dampened portion of cloth and stoppered his cock shut, practically. His breathing was furious and ragged as the stream instantly stopped.  
For a moment, Hershel was the hunchback, breathing with a depravity he'd never knew he had. A wide grimace crept over the blush on his face. He was doing nothing to stop his bladder from triumphantly pulsing with each forced pant, though, and he zoned back in on his pupil's words.

"Having a little trouble, there?"

Instantly Hershel tensed up, sitting stiffly. A wash of humiliation ran over him, and he blushed. Slowly, movement stunted, he took his hand away from his private area and huffed tearfully almost. "I am..."  
A gulp. A blow of breath. The fabric of his clothes cut ever so slightly into his swelling abdomen, and Hershel kept his wince as he sucked in his tummy. "I am.. ever so sorry." He sniffed. "For losing composure, there."  
He scratched his neck, fraught with nerves and only able to hold his legs in tight for a moment before his muscles gave in. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

"That's.."  
Rosetta leaned over, and squeezed Hersh's thigh. Hershel was completely unaware of this, and jumped. His full bladder bounced and another drop slid from him.  
Rosetta ignored it. She ran her thumb over his trembling thighs, feeling the harsh lines of his muscles trembling furiously in his legs to hold back his own torrent.  
 _Mmmm._  
"...okay."

Luke poked his head around the door shortly after the momentary loss of composure, and Hershel didn't even have to ask what he was going to say. "N-no thank you, Luke." He panted, softly. "I'm.."  
His voice trailed to a mortified squeak, and again came the brim-of-hat disappearing act. "...I'm very full of tea, right now." He didn't even have to take his eyes away from the darkness of his hat to _know_ how much he had drank. It wasn't even what Layton could call a _boastful_ amount of tea; but even the thought of Luke pouring another cup of tea right now, right there, caused his bladder to cripple and contract. He had to rearrange himself on the seat and hold himself at the waist, his fingers only pushing harder at the pressure.

Rosetta hummed, eyeing up the Prof. "Actually, Luke love. Plonk that teapot right here." She patted her knee. "...Maybe I can get the Professor to teach me to make some tea?"

The Professor couldn't help a chill running down his spine and he awkwardly twisted, legs holding this painful searing water balloon weakly. "Rosetta," he breathed, hiding his agony, "I-I don't feel like I could a-accurately teach you that right now." He admitted. Rosetta giggled and carefully placed the pot next to her. "Oh, Prof. That's fine!" She said breezily, and went back to talking about Cornwall, the Professor fighting a losing battle.

There was, eventually, a lull in conversation. The atmosphere in the room reduced to Layton's favourite; so peaceful that he could hear a pin drop.  
But not today.  
Layton's abdomen was _on fire_ , he swore of it. His bladder was plagued by Rosetta's talk of water, the many teacups piling into the room, the liquid spilling into his bladder; all of it.  
And in the silence of the room; his body tense, but hunched, meant he could _hear_ every little slosh the liquid in his bladder made as he fidgeted and trembled with increasing worry. His knee was now desperately shaking, the lines of his muscles popped into his legs, rigid and tight. Even his hand was now trembling, getting _so close_ to holding himself by now. Hershel was only thankful that the brim of his hat and the murky tears of embarrassment pearled at the corners of his eyes, prevented him from seeing his pupil's reaction, whatever it may be.  
Hershel took a deep breath, bladder shuddering. His promise to himself was that he could only hold himself in such a place if his stream was escaping down his legs.

It was still silent until an unusually deafening _clank_ tore him to attention. The rush of running water swam through his ears. The... that was the.. t-to--  
Hershel choked on a sob and ducked over, contorting into an even smaller ball as a new swarm of desperation crashed into him.

"Ahem." Rosetta smirked.  
Hershel gasped and threw himself upwards, causing the slightest spurt to burst out against his trousers. He fumbled messily with his trousers, looking up at her smally. His eyes were damp with tears and his cheeks were streaked with embarrassment.  
"Sorry." He whimpered at last, straightening up, though his composure was obviously shot to pieces.  
"That's fine." Rosetta smiled, listening to the almost silent whimper of piss spotting through fabric. "Sounds like your little apprentice has drank too much of his own tea."  
 _You have too_..  
Her grin was sadistic, clearly loving the teasing edge she'd developed. The Professor not so much!  
"Hm." Hershel groaned, a fraying giggle falling from his lips. "Qu-- Quite.."

Again it was silent, for a short while at least. Hershel's breathing was coming in quick short pants by now, desperate to stop further spurts. His face was wet, and he was clearly fumbling with the damp cotton of his trousers, but a shred of composure remained. Rosetta admired Hershel's fighting spirit, but it was time to rid of it.

"My, Prof..."  
Rosetta smirked and sat forward.  
Hershel's knee jerked as she leaned toward him and didn't seem to stop. With a low whimper he gave into the instinct and shook his leg desperately, praying half heartedly that it'd stop a spurt from coming out. It was right at the edge. _He must not wet his underwear. He must not--_  
Rosetta slowly grasped his attention again, her mouth forming words. Words, not that Layton was particularly focusing on them. His eyes were fearful. Typically though the gentleman in him pushed through the crippling agony of his own desperation.  
"Y-yes?"  
Rosetta held out the teacup filled to the brim with Earl Grey. "You look parched. Here, drink."  
For a moment Layton didn't pay attention, the mantra in his head taking immediate attention as hot pulses of pain wavered over his abdomen. _Mmm-- he must not wet his underwear-- he must not wet--_  
The spurt fell free, shaking itself hotly down Hershel's inner thigh. He cringed, taking a shudder of a breath, all too aware of his bladder shaking with him.  
"No, Rosetta. I couldn't possibly drink a-anything more than I have." Feigning calmness, he rearranged the notes on his lap, the cooling piss trickle down one leg still taunting him.  
"Professor, I insist." She said smoothly.  
"I- I still feel full from my last cup. Not another drop, I'm afraid." Hershel said back, speech hitching the tiniest bit. He sounded pitiful.  
"You misunderstand me, Hershel..." The girl raised the cup to his trembling lip.  
The poor Professor felt a jolt going down his spine, and his legs jammed in urgently to stop another small stream.  
He couldn't dignify Rosetta with a response.  
"...When I say drink, I mean it."

The Professor was not quite sure how he had let this happen but it may have had something to do with the piss pulsing harshly against his bladder. So harshly that he swore it was eating up every fibre of his thoughts right now. He was without a doubt _dying_ to go to the toilet. Never once in his life would he take such a thing for granted again.  
Rosetta tipped the cup. Liquid filled the Professor's cheeks, frightfully icy and tangy, yet that wasn't the reason he couldn't swallow a drop.  
He couldn't. The rational side of him had rushed away, swept away by desperation. If he swallowed, he'd simply burst...  
Until (miserably) a moment later he choked it down.  
"So good," Rosetta crooned. The Professor's blush rose high on his cheeks, as she crooned and cooed over him, and he had bitterly drained the cup. He sat up slowly, with a miserable air, hissing as the bulge of his bladder brushed against him, his mouth a grimace. This was a session that was seeming to get longer and longer...

Desperately, Layton tried to keep up the facade for the duration of the session, pledging to himself - _It will be a short while. Relief is imminent. Do not humiliate yourself_.  
He tucked one leg around the other and held it tightly there, his lip twitching nervously.  
 _He had to keep teaching; it would be useless to stop now, wouldn't it? Not to mention... the humiliation._  
He again shifted, rustling quietly, and whimpering. The spurts were coming more and more and Layton panicked, swivelling his hips two and fro as the small dot-and-dash of piss dribbling down his legs came with an alarming frequency. That was that. He was conscious his face was a streak of worry, redness and tears; nothing could be worse. Choking back half a sob, he hid, just as he often used to - right there behind the brim of his hat. It was a futile, childish attempt to hide. One shaky hand drifted to the inside of his thigh with an unsure, vicelike grip. At this rate, it only provided little relief, especially as the humiliation of realising Rosetta was staring at him. He sighed. Wetly so.

Rosetta looked him over. For a man with such a pressing need he was trying so hard to keep composed. "Oh, Professor.." She sighed, in mock worry. Her hands clasped over the handle of the teapot and brought it to her knees.

The Professor's eyes were moist with his own desperation. He let out a low, pathetic sounding choke of a breath, staring down at his lap and his tightly coiled legs. His hand tensed in his pocket, very nearly having one private touch, but he immediately ripped the thought from his mind. As a gentleman in the presence of a lady he had to keep composed. Though how he had held so much tea in his bladder was a puzzle even he couldn't solve.

A torturing weight fell into his lap moments later, and again his breath was torn from him, as the pressure in his bladder spiked and caused a painfully hot jet to seep into his boxers and splash the tops of his legs.  
Still, he looked down, and came face to face with the murky emptiness of the teapot. "You..."  
He looked up at Rosetta, face streaked with stress and pure embarrassment. "You would like more tea?"  
Rosetta was dumbstruck.  
"No, Professor." She said softly. "You need tea. Well, the teapot, actually. I'd say you have a dire need for this teapot."  
It took a while for Hershel's mind to stop focusing on the pounding of his bursting bladder but _finally_ he'd worked it out. He gulped. "N-no.. Rosetta, I couldn't possibly.." He was cut off as Rosetta forced a hand to the fabric of his trousers. Traitoringly, his legs did the slightest tremble against her hand.

Rosetta pushed against the swollen edge of his bladder, where she could feel he was full, and the liquid would pool warmly against her touch. The Professor winced, audibly, flinching harshly forward. "N-no..." His voice trailed to a whimper. "Please, Rosetta. I.. I can't."  
 _Not the teapot. Anything but the teapot. Anything but this situation, right now._ He pleaded silently to himself. Another stream burst forth and splashed the crotch of his trousers, forcing Hershel to whimper only slightly.  
The girl did not cease her actions, the flat of her palm against the warmth of his bladder, pushing with alarming force, eliciting many breathy helpless whimpers from the elder... _Yummy._  
Beneath her hold, Rosetta could feel his muscles were contracting. Hershel could barely hold onto his gentlemanly persona at this moment in time. Slowly, Rosetta eyed the stain seeping over Hershel's trousers; and flickered toward his tearful eyes. Hershel pressed his lips together, looking utterly miserable. But he knew what to do; and shakily lifted himself from his quickly dampening underpants.  
Rosetta tipped the cold edge of the teapot to the tip of his cock.

Immediately, Hershel flinched at the temperature. His legs tightened inwards. Typically, the most sensitive area of his body had to kick in right now. Hershel was beginning to think he should backtrack; was fidgeting endlessly on the couch, tempted to rip away and furiously tuck in and pretend nothing had happened. But he was only human and could feel the wet pearl of urine slipping down his shaft.  
He stilled - and _finally_ let out a defeated groan as the first few dribbles plonked with an embarrassing volume into the bottom of the pot. Quickly, they were drowned out by the thunder as the dam broke free at long last.

It was silent in the room, punctured only by the loud noise of desperation and relief plummeting into eachother. To say the Professor was mortified would be a horrific understatement.  
But it wasn't like he could stop himself right now. Ever so slightly his tense body began to uncurl and relax and go still as the gentle relief of it all, spilled over his body.

Rosetta could feel the warm piss creep gradually upwards in the pot, and she had to shift it accordingly.  
Layton cringed and flinched as the warm pressure was there again, pushing between his legs. It felt so odd; as if his bladder had ballooned to the usual swell. He almost had to remind himself that he was definitely relieving himself.  
All of a sudden, his stream dwindled. Rosetta let out a short chuckle. "Is that it?"  
"Mmm-- no," Hershel pleaded, wriggling. _He wasn't finished! No.. No. He had objected to the pot in the first place but.. he **really** needed it right now_. He was pitiful.

Rosetta suddenly felt his stream again; a hard ball of hot piss splashed against her body. Immediately she gasped and flinched. A look of betrayal crossed her features; _how dare he get so sly and aim at her!_  
Only then, her eyes drifted to the dripping spout. Of the teapot.  
Dripping.  
Ah.  
"Okay.. it's--" her eyes widened. 

What goes in a teapot, must come out.

Hershel had figured this out by now too. He flinched slightly, begging silent permission to pull away. _He could not void his bladder all over his pupil; the situation was bad enough that she had to help, see him in such a compromising, vulnerable position..._  
"No," Rosetta told him when he flinched, voice hard.  
"Rosetta.. it--"  
"It is fine." She told him, an arm slung across his lap; and glumly he stayed, his eyes tight shut, imagining himself clumsily sat and taking a moment to relieve himself _in a toilet_ ; if only it would make the situation even marginally better. Embarrassingly, it only caused the spurt of his stream to furiously increase, flowing freely. 

Rosetta fitted her thumb over the spout as the first rush of liquid splashed up it, letting the warmth splash and soak her thumb. Soon it was a dam that even her thumb couldn't bear and the Professor's liquid gold sputtered out behind her, trickling faintly onto the floor. Even the Professor, still helplessly stuck in a cloud of relief, could hear the traitorous spill. Opening his eyes he managed to see his own stream splinter onto the wood floor in small puddles.  
He whimpered. How horrible.

His stream was not long finished after that, the liquid stuttering to a trickled stop. Rosetta set the sloshing pot down on the table. Her fingers were soaked but made quick work of neatening the Professor up again, tucking damp boxers into damp trousers.  
She grabbed a fistful of his orange shirt, a choked breath escaping as the man panicked from this sudden movement. Rosetta wiped her wet hand over Hersh's shirt. Then, her deed done, she lifted her book and stepped out as if nothing had happened.

The Professor was silent. The door closed and it was dark in his office, and the urine on his trousers cooled and burned at his inner thighs. The thirty-seven year old squeezed his eyes shut.  
She.. could leave him in a position like this? So humiliating of him, to act so infantile... In front of her.  
Numbly, he crept toward the shower, and stood under it's heaving spray while staring at his feet, silence hanging in the air. He'd let the puddle on his office floor fester for a while, sure that even if Luke did happen to come across it, then he couldn't possibly get more humiliated than he currently was.  
The strong scent of ammonia stung his nose. A blush burning his cheeks, it was only then that he allowed any tears of mortification to fall, planning out entirely what to do with his ruined clothes, teapot (and reputation.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Humiliation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3251432) by [empyreanTempest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empyreanTempest/pseuds/empyreanTempest)




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